


Compromised

by gringle



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (i might make a part two if people are into it?), Angst, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Blood, Blood Loss, Delirium, During Canon, Gen, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Major Character Injury, Missions Gone Wrong, Near Death Experiences, POV Keith (Voltron), Self-Esteem Issues, mid-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gringle/pseuds/gringle
Summary: Keith ignored the rolling sensation of pain radiating from his stomach. “I’m uh… I’ve been injured. I can make it-” probably. Keith was never a betting man in the sense that he’d think in terms of probabilities. He just worked toward a goal, and he either succeeded or failed, and he can’t fail this. “-I just need more time.”“That information is invaluable in overcoming this sector of Empire Control. You have five minutes, or until we’re compromised ourselves,” Kolivan stated, grim and final.Another click, and Kolivan’s voice went silent.





	Compromised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StandinShadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StandinShadow/gifts).



> Enjoy! This is a Birthday Gift for my friend, StandinShadow! 
> 
> As always, Fuel me with kudos and comments! I love and appreciate every comment I get!~

Keith woke up to a deep, throbbing pain just below his ribs, sharp and patterned in time to his heart. Light brought pain when he opened his eyes, and with a gasp, he clutched his abdomen, trying to stifle the slow dripping of blood through the black fabric of his suit. 

He looked around, the night vision of his helmet allowing him to take in the contours of the dark room. It was a communication room, one that he thought was vacant a little while ago, and he was here to gather call log information as well as hailing frequencies and decryption keys for messages between ships in the sector. He spotted two bloody corpses between his position on the floor and the door to the exit.

He barely remembered the battle between himself and two Galra guards that caught him by surprise, but the nagging throb of pain across his stomach suggested that they’d managed a lucky shot with a sword. The pain in the back of his head, however, was most likely due to hitting it against the console on his way down, the guard using his last moments to knock him back. 

He needed a plan, and fast. His Blade-approved-space-flash-drive was glowing a gentle green in the console port, so he’d completed his mission, but with the distance it took to get here from the shuttle, Keith wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to sneak out while leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He sucked in a breath, pressing his left hand against the wound harshly as he used the other to reach up to his communicator to contact Kolivan, who should still be somewhere within the base.

“Kolivan?” Keith whispered, wincing at the pathetic sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Kolivan, come in.”

A click of static, signaling his reply. “How long until you rendezvous?” he replied. Perfunctory. Clear. There wasn’t room for error in his tone.

Keith winced. “I have the data, but I’ve been compromised. I can't use stealth anymore.”

“In what sense?”

Keith ignored the rolling sensation of pain radiating from his stomach. “I’m uh… I’ve been injured. I can make it-” probably. Keith was never a betting man in the sense that he’d think in terms of probabilities. He just worked toward a goal, and he either succeeded or failed, and he can’t fail this. “-I just need more time.”

“That information is invaluable in overcoming this sector of Empire Control. You have five minutes, or until we’re compromised ourselves,” Kolivan stated, grim and final.

Another click, and Kolivan’s voice went silent.

Keith shuddered, suddenly filled with terror at the thought of being left behind. He clicked his own communicator off, not wanting to flood the channel with the sounds of his heavy breathing.

They couldn’t leave without him. They needed this information, and plus, he’s a Paladin of-

No. Former Paladin. That didn’t matter here, and he needed to accept that. He’s as disposable as any other Blade member, and he needed to get his ass in gear and make it to the shuttle.

With a grunt, he twisted himself into a sitting position, breathing through the pain in his stomach as he bent forward. He reached out, bloody fingers scraping against the communications console, and with a tentative grip on it, he pulled himself closer to it. It was slow moving, standing up, but once he was able to get his feet solidly under him, he shuffled to the flash drive and pulled it out, stuffing it in a pouch on his suit.

With one hand gripping his stomach and the other using the console for leverage, he tilted forward and began walking, head swimming and each step sending jolts of pain up his body.

Shit, his blade was in front of him, abandoned in a soldier’s chest. The armor was fractured where the blade entered, a cracked fissure where the luxite kissed the spine at the back of the chest cavity. Keith would have to stop, bend down, and pull it out. 

He closed his eyes, bracing himself before he leaned over, a desperate shudder punched out of him as he shakily gripped the handle, and with a over-powered yank, his knife was unwedged, and he felt the sensation of vertigo set his balance off-kilter. He stumbled backwards, almost falling again if not for his legs automatically following his tilting weight. 

He felt the console dig into the back of his thighs, his body slumping back against the screens as the room spun. The hand he’d held to his abdomen extended outward to hold his weight up. He clutched his blade, paralyzed with the fear of dropping it, as he might not be able to bend down again without falling to the floor.

His skin felt clammy and overly warmed, like he’d just gone through too many rounds on the training deck. If Shiro were here, he’d find Keith as soon as possible, hold him steady, and reassure him that they’d never leave-

Stop. He needed. He needed to focus. It’s just a stomach wound. 

With a shaking hand, he pressed back down on the injury, choking back a scream as the pain bit into him like a wolf tearing into a rabbit. He gasped, the dizziness curling into his mind like a miasma. 

He made himself tuck his blade away, so it would stay secure on his person. With the other hand also pressing down on his wound. He counted to three, and stood himself back up, ignoring the tilt of the room as he trudged to the doorway.

Keith almost didn’t stop when he made it to the door, walking right into it and using it as a prop for his weight and a resting point. His breathing was labored, his sweaty face trapped in the Blade mask as sweat dripped into his eyes. Thankfully, his goggles didn’t fog up with the added humidity from his desperate pants.

When he felt as though he couldn’t wait any longer, he pressed his hand against the identification panel. The door slid open with a hiss, and he picked his feet up in a stumble. He didn’t entirely recall which way to go, but he felt his instinct pull him to the right hallway, so that was where he went. 

Using a hand to clutch his stomach, he was able to walk on autopilot, every step a thrum as his nerves screamed in agony. He lifted his other hand up, feeling precious blood drip behind him as he pulled up the map of the interior of the base. Thank quiznak he picked the right direction. 

He had to move forward. Ignore the pain, ignore the blood trail behind him, ignore the growing dread that he might not be going fast enough. Any progress was good. Forward. He kept forward.

He couldn’t keep the paladins out of his mind. The paladi- no. His friends. He could call them that now, right? Bleeding out in an enemy base wasn’t the best time to internalize that issue, he didn’t think. He wasn’t doing too much deep thinking anyway, between the fog of pain and the floating sensation of confusion that blanketed his mind.

His friends would have come for him. They would have found him. Or would they? Would they have thought he could handle himself? He turned left, down another corridor, and he found himself unable to predict that answer.

He couldn’t predict a lot. He could only act. And so he continued walking.

Did they miss him? He wondered if they missed him, or if Shiro just missed him, or if they were happy he stepped aside. Would Kolivan tell them? He knew the Blade Leader wouldn’t collect his body or return it, too focused on leaving. Regris once said that a Galran body on a battlefield was guaranteed passage to the afterlife. It was good to die fighting. Was this considered a good enough battlefield, alone in a corridor?

Another step, and he blinked back the doubling vision. Don’t think about that. He turned down another corridor, and between one step and the next he realized he couldn’t feel his fingers. He clenched his wound as best as he could figure, and he didn’t stop. There was a ringing sound, a cacophony of white noise with his ears trapped between it. When his vision filtered out all color, Keith stumbled, dragging the tip of his boot along the metal floor, and his face met the ground in a harsh smack.

The ringing noise grew, to the point where he couldn’t hear his own breathing. Just his heart pumping madly in his skull and a screeching monotone. He landed, hand pressed between wound and floor, and the pain registered dully through his rotting senses.

He felt his chest heaving, huge gasping breaths as if he were drowning. Lance could save him if he was drowning. He needed to call them. He needed to call-

His eyes blinked open, and the wall in front of him swirled with grey static. The floor beneath him was tilting, and he tensed, weakly preparing himself for the drop down the corridor-

He felt, detachedly, that liquid was dribbling, seeping, clinging, eating through his suit. The wall gifted him with the eternal abyss of a blend of every color until it was white, a bolstered three dimensional, transparent lattice of light, and between one wheeze and the next, he realized he was dying.

His hand, his free hand, moved to his face mask on his own and pressed the communicator. 

The motion exhausted him, and his hand dropped down by his head, and the inside of his mask was so warm he started shivering and couldn’t stop. 

He didn’t speak for a long moment, but he heard the click of someone entering the channel as well.

“Keith, is that you? Report,” Kolivan stated. 

Keith almost felt the chill of disapproval seep into him, blending with the cloying stench of sweat and failure. He panted, sucking in what oxygen he could while the fog started smothering him.

“I’m-” Keith wheezed, mind pouring out through his failing ears and his failing heart and his failing stomach and his failing mouth. “-sorry.”

“Keith, report,” Kolivan repeated. Clear and cold like everything else. It was always so cold. His fingers, the floor, the sounds, and Keith choked on the warm, used stale hot salty air of his mask, gasping for relief.

He panted, summoning the energy to talk. Words were always hard for him, alive or dead. It’s numb and cold and too quiet and- “I’m down. I’m sorry. I have the-”

“Karnak, trace his communicator. Elkor, you’re with me.” It was Kolivan again, ubiquitous and cutting through the white noise like a blade, sharp and cold. And cold. And.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered, closing his eyes and letting the ringing lull him downward, through the floor.

“We are coming. You must be patient, Keith,” Kolivan replied. “Karnak, which way-”

Patient like Shiro. Where was Shiro? He said he’d be back. He said and he lied and then he did, and Keith should have been more patient. “Where’s Shiro?” Keith mumbled, watching the greys flicker into whites and watching stars fly past him.

“-Left, down one level, and a right-”

“I’m sorry. I was scared. You can’t be replaced, Shiro.” 

He blinked, and like a dream come true, there he was, smiling at him. Proud of him. Keith felt the pride in his chest, blooming against the front like a wet spot, creeping and cold and calming. The smile was bright like a star. It belonged in the cold stars. It belonged where he didn’t. 

Something sharp dug into his shoulder, and Keith whimpered as it jerked him away from the pride and the peace and.

Kolivan. There was movement from his lips behind the silence of the greyed out stars, dim and unwanting, and a warm sensation started curling up into his middle, below his chest, where Shiro’s generous pride felt colder than ever before, and suddenly, his chest was hot. Far too hot, and Keith’s vocal cords started burning, and he’s prying away claws and his heart started moving faster faster faster. His ears heard his own voice, ripped and hoarse and still screaming, and the hot pain seeped into him and set his spine alight with the overwhelming desire to flee.

Something touched him from between the shoulder blades, and as his head rose above the gentle embrace of the wet floor, Keith felt his eyes flutter shut, and his thoughts sunk into darkness.

\---

It was warm, dark, and quiet when Keith’s thoughts filtered back into reality. The softness of his bedding was layered and heavy, and he was secured by raised bars around the perimeter of the cot.

The purple lighting above was dim, almost as dark as the inert metal of what must be the Blade Headquarters. The dimness was excellent, considering how badly his head throbbed. He shut his eyes, letting the quiet footfalls of the on-duty physician checking on patients occupy his mind. He must have woken up during a night cycle, though considering the fact that they had left for their mission at 4:30 in the morning, Marmora time, Keith must have been asleep for hours.

A horrible, knot of a beast started festering beneath his ribs, curling and acrid and more painful than the dull drum of his healing laceration. 

Shame. Deep, stifling shame. He couldn’t complete the mission. He’d failed to out-maneuver the guards, failed to meet up at the rendezvous, and someone, not just anyone, Kolivan, had to save him.

He can’t be angry, can’t even be annoyed. From what he could recall, it was harrowing, and he was pretty sure he’d almost died. Keith preferred being alive over being dead, sure, so he couldn’t complain. But the thought left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Plenty of others died for the cause, and yet he was special enough, lucky enough, for Kolivan to leave his station and go back for him.

No, he was angry. Why was he worth going back for? Why was he so special? Out of all of the Blade members he had seen die, that were left behind, why did Kolivan put the mission at risk to come back for him? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It was against Kolivan’s own orders, ones he reprimanded Keith for when he left his post to save Regris a month ago.

He scowled at the ceiling, angry and confused and unsure and so lost, until the physician, Zushal, Keith thought his name was, arrived at his cot. 

“Awake, little Bladelet?” he smiled, reaching over to activate the bioscans above his head.

Keith’s expression turned thunderous, trying to convey the urge to punch him, despite the fact that his body felt so sluggish, he didn’t think he would be able to sit up on his own. 

The physician looked down at him in amusement, likely having experienced similar expressions on larger and more intimidating Galra. He flicked through the readouts, the holographic light causing Keith to pinch his eyes shut in pain.

“Your skull isn’t fractured, at least, but swelling indicates head trauma,” He read off, filling Keith in. “The on-field nanites did well enough stitching that gash of yours, though you still need time to heal leftover internal damage. You’re scheduled for physical therapy in a week, once you recover more from the concussion. You’ll experience dizziness, nausea, and lethargy because of blood loss, which we don’t have a permanent solution for due to your hybrid nature, aside from down time.”

He was down. Genuinely benched for over a week. The guilt began anew, curling inside and settling over him. Keith listened in on the physician rustling something, and he felt a gentle tap to his cheek alongside an, “Open up.”

He drank the medicine, followed by water that coated the back of his throat in cool relief, finally noticing how dry and scratchy it had been. He didn’t want to seem too greedy, trying to swallow slowly, but between how unsteady his head felt and the blood loss, Keith couldn’t stop leaning up towards it in need. 

Zushal pulled back eventually, and Keith flopped his head against the pillows, exhausted. At least Keith didn’t hear Zushal laughing at him.

“You’re permitted back in intelligence meetings after the physical exam, and no missions until after you’re cleared for active duty,” he said, politely refraining from commenting on Keith’s actions.

“But I can’t rest,” Keith argued, voice weak and possibly slurring. Keith wondered what was in that medicine he just drank. “The mission.”

“Your mission is to rest, little Bladelet. No need for us to send out injured Blade members when we have plenty of healthy soldiers to send out instead,” Zushal replied, a little humor in their soft tone. 

“Not that many soldiers,” Keith blurted out, not quite in charge of his mouth at the moment. The throbbing in his skull dulled in sharpness, and his body felt more loose than sore with every passing moment. “Keep getting left for dead,” he said. Except for him. Not him. Maybe a true soldier, but not him. What was he doing wrong? 

Zushal had the gall to laugh, bright and loud and cutting into the quiet of the near-silent infirmary. “Seems like that’s changing, eh?” He snickered, bringing his tone back down to a quiet decibel that better suited a bedside manner.

Keith felt his eyes twitching, confusion trickling into his consciousness. “Kolivan told?” he asked, losing the thread of the conversation as a different, new, better fog settled inside him.

“No, Karnak couldn’t shut up about it. The whole base has been gossiping.”

“Oh,” Keith mumbled. Everyone knew he wasn’t a real soldier. A failure. He wasn't taken seriously, too young, too small, too weak to be a Blade member. Would he be allowed to train with them now?

“Looks like old Kolivan’s been compromised,” he said, the tone suggesting that Zushal was smiling as he adjusted Keith’s blankets until they touched his chin, and Keith settled into them subconsciously.

That wasn't funny. Someone should fix that. Someone more capable than him. It wouldn’t be good for their leader to be compromised. They have to fight and win. Keith tried asking about what happened to Kolivan, but his tongue felt heavy and everything started dimming and growing quiet, like cotton stuffing his mind.

Zushal must have been in some sort of mood, because he started laughing again, quiet and genuine. “Rest up, Bladelet. Things are changing here because of you.”

And so Keith slept.


End file.
